


Shades of Color

by Badwolf36



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury, Multi, Relationship(s), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Vignette, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7710874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badwolf36/pseuds/Badwolf36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the powers of the Kings and their clans disappear, it’s the little things that end up coloring the worlds of those left behind in the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is finished, but I'll be posting in installments. Comments are loved and cherished.

The Silver King, as one of his last acts, had predicted that destroying the Dresden Slate would result in the loss of Slate-granted powers for all who were burdened and blessed by them.

It’s a prediction that comes true quickly for Jungle members, and much more slowly for the rest of the Clans.

The Swords of Damocles no longer dangle over their heads, but their powers (diminished though they are) linger for the moment.

Those with the weakest expression of their abilities lose them first. Some lose their abilities gradually, and some lose them all at once.

Strangely, some abilities weaken, but don’t go away (although this particular anomaly only seems to affect Silver Clan members).

Also, even the Silver King couldn’t have predicted the effects the Slate’s destruction would have on the many Strains it created over the years, which range from a complete loss of powers to a temporary amplification of them.

When the powers of the Kings and their clans disappear, it’s the little things that end up coloring the worlds of those left behind in the aftermath.


	2. Misaki Yata - Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the cold that bothers him the most.

It’s the cold that bothers him the most.

As he starts to lose his Red Aura and the warmth it always granted him, Yata finds himself modifying his wardrobe to try to compensate. He wears his purple-and-white jacket constantly, and his black beanie with the soft brim stays tucked on his head. When it starts getting worse, he abandons his cargo shorts for pants and pulls on thicker socks before jamming his feet into his skate shoes.

And then, one day, it’s like the cold has fled. He feels as warm as he ever did with Homra’s flame roaring inside him (although this heat prickles more than his Red ever did).

It’s with that warmth burning through him that he makes his way to Bar Homra. It’s his day off, but Kusanagi had said something about Anna wanting to…well, he didn’t remember, but it was Anna telling him she wanted to do something, so he’d be there.

When he woke up more tired than when he went to bed, he’d almost called to ask if they could do whatever it was another day. But he didn’t like breaking his promises, especially ones he made to Anna. So he’d trudged out of his apartment, only remembering halfway to the bar that he’d left his skateboard and staff behind (he didn’t need the weapon as much, but Homra’s enemies – not rival clans, but true enemies - had never really stopped _being_ enemies). He’d thought about going back for them, but the very idea had made him feel even more tired, so he’d kept putting one foot in front of the other.

“Hey, Yata!” Kamamato greets him as he enters from his place on a barstool.

Kusanagi waves to him as he lets the door close behind him.

“I think Anna’s almost ready to go and…are you feeling alright?”

Yata’s thoughts feel like they’re backstroking through syrup, the kind that his mom used to pour over pancakes (and probably still does. He needs to visit soon). It’s only when Kusanagi repeats the question that he grasps enough words in the right order to understand it.

“I’m fine. Just glad it’s warmed up.” He notices Kusanagi and Kamamoto exchange quick glances, but they’re too quick for him to define the expressions there.

He’s saved from thinking about it too hard by Anna, who clatters down the stairs from the upstairs apartment with a mix of her usual grace and a little bit of reckless enthusiasm (she’s Homra, after all, and those in Homra are always filled with a bit of reckless enthusiasm).

“Misaki!” she says excitedly, but then pulls up short and drops her arms before she can hug him. Her expression falls as she studies him, fingers twisted in the deep crimson fabric of her doll-like dress. Misaki feels sick to his stomach at the idea that he’s come up wanting in her gaze.

“Hey, Anna. Are you ready to…” but he’s cut off when Anna sharply orders “Sit.”

He backs his way onto the nearest barstool and obediently sits (ignoring the voice in his head that sounds like Eric calling him an obedient Chihuahua).

“Anna?”

“Izumo, can you…?” she asks, but Kusanagi is already moving out from behind the bar toward the stairs Anna just descended. “Rikio…”

“You got it, Anna.”

Yata blinks, wondering when he lost track of this situation (if he ever had it).

It feels like he only blinks a few more times before Kusanagi is in front of him, a digital thermometer gripped in his right hand.

“What’s that for?” he asks dumbly, before he figures it out. “I’m not sick! I feel fine!”

“Let’s let the thermometer decide that.”

Yata tries to protest, but Kusanagi just uses the opportunity to pop the thermometer in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Misaki. I wouldn’t have asked you to go out if I’d known,” Anna says. When Yata tries to respond, Anna levels him with a glare that makes him settle back down against the bar.

Kamamoto steps back into the bar, brandishing a pill bottle and slipping his cellphone into the pocket of his white tracksuit jacket.

“All taken care of Anna!” he says, before he grimaces. “Well, as much as it can be.”

“Thank you, Rikio.”

Yata wants to ask what his partner was up to, but before he can, the thermometer beeps and Kusanagi snatches it out of his mouth and consults the readout.

“39.5 Celsius,” Kusanagi says, not bothering to hide his concern. “That’s getting into dangerous territory. We might want to think about getting him to a doctor.”

Anna nods, but Yata shakes his head.

“I’m serious, all of you. I feel fine. In fact, I finally feel like normal!” To demonstrate this, he stands up, ready to show off his fighting form with a few moves. Only, instead of that, his visions blackens around the edges like a burnt piece of paper, and he stumbles forward into Kusanagi’s arms. “Hnnngh.”

“Easy, Yata,” Kusanagi says. “Help me get him to the couch.”

Yata wants to protest, but Kamamoto is under one arm and Kusanagi is under the other before he can.

“I’ll be right back!” Anna declares, and Yata hears her thundering up the stairs as his eyes slip shut without his say-so. Now that he thinks about it, he realizes why he felt overly warm this morning, and also what that heat after such a long period of cold means.

“Hey, Kusanagi,” he murmurs as they get him sat down on the couch. Yata kicks off his shoes after the older man protests him putting them on the furniture. He then curls up on the worn cushions. “This is it for me, isn’t it?”

Kusanagi sighs, but doesn’t try to point him away from the truth.

“I’m afraid so. With the Slate gone, it was only a matter of time.”

Yata knows this. He was at the meeting of the revived Coffee Table Alliance when the former Silver King had explained his theory on what he thought would happen. He’d seen Homra and Scepter 4 members alike lose their powers bit by bit. Just last week, Saruhiko had admitted to him that he couldn’t call on any Aura (Green, Red, or Blue). And yet, somehow, even with all that, Yata hadn’t completely thought through how he would lose _his_ Aura and how it would affect _him_.

“Will the medicine still help?” Kamamoto asks as Yata closes his eyes. The pain, which he realizes has been a dull roar building over the last few days, is suddenly excruciating. It’s like someone is taking an ice cream scoop to his veins and digging out the part of him that makes him strong, makes him worthy of the titles of Homra’s vanguard and Yatagarasu.

“It can’t hurt, especially with the fever he’s spiking. Yata, you’re going to need to sit up for a moment.” And then, off to the side, “Grab a glass of water, please.”

“Got it.”

There’s a series of loud clopping noises before Yata notices the presence of someone standing in front of him. When he opens his eyes, all he can see is orange (and a particularly garish shade of the color to boot).

“Wha…?”

The orange thing attacks him, coming down across his body like a…like a soft attacking thing. He blinks as Anna’s small hands push his attacker – an outrageously ugly, bright-orange fleece blanket – down around his body.

“Anna?”

Anna is blushing a little bit, but her hands are sure as she pats the blanket into place.

“I thought it would help,” she murmurs, her voice as shy as when she first came to Homra.

Yata glances between her and the blanket a few times before he focuses a bit more on the blanket. The blanket which, now’s that he’s examining the misshapen knots that make up its fringe, seems oddly familiar.

“Is this…?”

“Anna finished it,” Kusanagi says as he holds out his right hand, which contains two small, white pills. “Totsuka’s blanket-making phase was mercifully short, but he left plenty of materials around.”

“This is really great, Anna. Thanks.” Yata manages a smile for her that he’s pretty sure doesn’t come off a complete grimace, and she smiles in return.

Kusanagi shakes his hand at him, and Yata dutifully scoops the pills off his palm. Kamamoto appears in front of him with a glass of water a moment later, and doesn’t make a single comment when he has to help Yata sit up. He even holds the glass for him as he takes the pills and then washes them down with the water.

When that’s accomplished, Kusanagi takes the empty glass, Kamamoto shifts Yata back down into a reclining position, and Anna tucks him in again.

“Just sleep, Yata. It will be over soon.” Kusanagi’s voice is kind, if a bit wistful, although Yata doesn’t have the energy to spare to piece together why.

Yata swallows hard, and shuts his eyes so that the trio in front of him don’t see him cry.

“I’ll watch your Red ‘til the end,” he hears Anna say, and he’s not sure whether he falls asleep or passes out, but blackness takes him away before he can respond.

*************************

When he slips back into awareness, it’s because he’s naked, cold, and someone is spraying even colder water on him. He tries to snap out his arm to give whoever’s doing it a good right hook, but his fist is caught before he can move it more than a couple of inches. Yata blinks furiously through the spray so he can turn an impressive glare on his captor, but once he focuses on a sliver of crystal blue, he relaxes without thinking.

“Saru?” he gets out through chattering teeth.

“You’re an idiot,” the other responds, and then, so softly Yata almost doesn’t hear it over the spray of the water, “Just bear with it a little longer.”

It briefly occurs to Yata that there’s far more steam than there should be, and he realizes his Aura is flaring out into flames that are quenched all too rapidly.

“I…I didn’t…think…it would…,” he starts to say through chattering teeth, then stops. He’s already forgot what he wants to say, if he ever really knew in the first place. Instead, because it’s the truth, he whispers, “It hurts, Saruhiko.”

Saruhiko’s hand stutters against his skin before there’s an all-too-familiar click of a tongue against teeth (and when did that become a comfort, instead of something that triggered a rapid shortening of the fuse linked to his temper?).

“It’ll fade,” he says so softly Yata almost doesn’t hear him over the sound of the water and the rush of blood past his ears.

And speaking of fading, his vision is doing the very same again; this time narrowing to a small red dot off in the distance.

“Oi! Don’t pass…!” But the rest of the protest is lost as red and black become the only things he can see.

**********************

When he opens his eyes, there’s nothing but flame and ash and fire everywhere he looks.

_It’s ironic, right? That I’m going to burn after wielding a flame for so long. Maybe this is how Mr. Mikoto felt all along._

“No blood, no bone, no ash, huh?” he says, more derisively than he thinks he’s said anything in his life. “Nothing left, that’s our fate. I was an idiot to think…well, I’m always an idiot, right?”

He hears someone make a dismayed noise, but the flames rise up higher and the crack of each tongue of flame drowns out any other sounds.

He thinks of Anna’s phoenix as it rose for the first time. Phoenixes rose from the ashes, but Homra didn’t leave even those behind. Homra members burned hot and bright and went out in blazes of glory (or with only a rival to witness the end, or without any glory at all because they were murdered by an insane King).

_What did you think?_

He’s not sure if he thinks that or someone says it, but he contemplates his answer as the flames creep closer to him.

“I thought I belonged.”

_You don’t?_

“People who belong don’t get left behind.”

Someone’s sobbing, but he’s too tired to deal with it. He’s been too tired for a very long time.

**********************

He wakes up, and Kamamoto immediately lifts him up. Water gets poured down his throat, and he knows he swallows it, but he doesn’t remember laying back down.

**********************

He wakes up, and his chest is on fire.

He watches his shirt burn away to reveal his Homra mark, its Red glowing like a live ember. It’s what it feels like, the symbol of his pride burning away at him. He watches as his skin begins to blacken and bubble around the mark until his flesh peels away to reveal the mess of charring muscle and crackling bones beneath.

He’s not sure whether he’s horrified or relieved that his end has finally come.

Either way, he starts screaming.

He wonders if this is how Saruhiko felt (feels) all the time as the pain takes him away from the world again.

**********************

He wakes up, and Anna and Saruhiko are in chairs beside wherever he is (Mikoto’s old bed?). They’re asleep; Anna’s head resting against Saruhiko’s thigh while his head is tipped back against his right shoulder and a corner of the chair back.

They never did have anything against one another, even if they were never particularly close.

He hopes their relationship improves, or at least doesn’t worsen, after he’s gone (because he’s pretty sure there’s no way he’ll survive this. And if not surviving means the agony stops, he thinks he’s okay with that).

**********************

He wakes up, and Kusanagi sets a cool rag down on his forehead. It begins to steam, and Kusanagi curses.

“Hang in there. Just stay with us!”

**********************

He wakes up, and he’s crying. He doesn’t open his eyes, as if that will prevent anyone from seeing.

He feels weak. He feels _helpless_.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks, the words bursting out of him even though he doesn’t know who might be listening. “I’m the vanguard! How I am supposed to protect everyone if it’s just me? If I’m just…me?”

Yata chokes on air and tears. He’s going to be alone again. His school friends abandoned him. Saruhiko abandoned him (he had his reasons, but he still left and took Yata’s pride with him). Homra abandoned him, even if a few of them came back. The powers that allowed him to protect others are abandoning him, have likely already gone (and they may yet take him with them). And Homra now is…Homra is…

“What’ll happen to Homra?”

“Homra isn’t a gang of street punks anymore,” A kind voice says from somewhere above him. “What’s left, what’s always been the core, has been family. You have to rely on them for once, yeah? I know you’ve been hurt before. I know people who promised to stay have left you, even Homra, even us.”

There’s a long pause there, as if that phrase has deeper meaning for the speaker.

“But you have to try, Misaki. You have to keep moving forward down the path that’s going to make you happy. And I know you’re happy when you have people that count on you and that you can count on in return. So count on your friends. All of them, even the new ones you’ve made outside of Homra.”

Another pause, and the voice sounds a bit chastising and a bit amused as it continues with, “And tell them how you feel, how you _really_ feel, every once in a while. You’re not the only one who’s a little dense.”

“Hey!” he protests, but the word only comes out as a half-hearted murmur. It’s only as he’s drifting off again that he places the voice as Totsuka’s.

**********************

When Yata wakes up again (really wakes up, with all of his senses and wits about him), he finds Anna once again smoothing the edges of the ugly orange blanket down his body. It’s a little charred in spots, but surprisingly in one piece.

He panics for a moment before realizing that someone (and he really doesn’t want to know who) has dressed him in an oversized white T-shirt and a pair of boxers.

Anna looks up as he starts moving around, and her claret-colored eyes widen slightly.

“Misaki,” she says, relief clear in her tone. She examines him a bit more closely, and because he’s looking, he can’t escape the way sadness pulls down her happy expression.

“Is it…” He chokes, and tries again. “Is it gone?”

Anna gives the slightest nod of her head, and Yata throws his arm over his face so Anna can’t see the tears forming in his eyes.

“There’s still a tiny bit though, in your heart,” she says, tapping her finger against the covered mark on his chest before despair can set in completely. “A part of Misaki that’s always been there, even without the Slate.”

She pauses, and Yata doesn’t have to look to know that she has that regal look on her face she gets when she is carefully weighing her words against her desires. (It’s a look he’s always hated and admired, because she’s still a kid and shouldn’t have to make those choices, but she does anyways.)

Apparently desire wins out for once, because in the next moment she’s clambering up onto the bed beside Yata. She curls into his side on top of the blanket, her head resting against the spot she just indicated.

“Don’t…” she says, the word thick with tears. “Don’t let…Misaki’s Red should never burn out.”

And Anna’s not a King anymore, just like Misaki isn’t her vanguard anymore. But that request sounded like a command, so he answers it as such.

“Don’t be stupid, Anna. This Red is Mikoto’s Red, your Red, Homra’s Red. It’s _my_ Red. I could _never_ let it burn out.” He feels the tears he’s been holding back finally slip down his face and is glad he didn’t move his arm to look at her. “Might flicker sometimes though. That… that cool?”

Anna shifts a little bit closer, slinging a small, slim arm around his chest. She hums softly before Yata feels her nod her head.

“Yes. As long as it keeps going.”

“I’ll do my best.” He takes a deep breath, which hitches before turning into a yawn. “I’m gonna…”

“Rest, Misaki. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

*******************************

“Hey, Misaki. Mi~sa~ki.”

Yata pries his eyes open, blinking rapidly to clear away the haze clouding his vision.

When he finally manages to take in his surroundings, he finds Saruhiko’s face just a few inches away from his own.

“Gah!” He flails his hands out from under the covers in order to shove the other man away. “What the hell?!”

Saruhiko, for his part, just sits calmly back down in his chair. Misaki notes that he’s wearing a white button-up shirt that looks too big for him (and sort of like one of Kusanagi’s) and striped purple boxer shorts as well. He still manages to look dignified though, which is utter bullshit after the creeper act he just pulled.

“I was waiting for you to wake up,” he states evenly.

“Oh.” The reality that his Aura is gone rushes back in again like a tidal wave that threatens to swamp him under grief and misery. Yata wonders if he’ll ever get used to it; what getting used to it will mean. “I’m awake.”

“I can see that.”

Yata turns over onto his side, facing away from Saruhiko.

“You didn’t tell me how much it was going to hurt. Losing it.” He wants the words to sound accusing, but they mostly just come out tired.

There’s a long pause before Saruhiko says, “It wasn’t like that for me.”

“Ah. That’s good.” He means it. Saruhiko had three Auras. If losing his Red was like this, Yata knows he wouldn’t have wished that pain, particularly threefold, onto anyone, let alone his…whatever Saruhiko is these days.

There’s silence again, because Yata can’t think of how to voice that thought out loud. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut tight, wondering if he really did hear Totsuka at one point.

“I’m sorry.”

That startles Yata enough that he quickly sits up so he can face Saruhiko. He immediately has to brace himself with both arms though as weakness shoots through him.

“Easy!” Saruhiko admonishes, even as he helps him lean back against the headboard.

Yata takes several long, deep breaths before turning to Saruhiko and asking, “What are you sorry about?”

To Yata’s surprise, Saruhiko looks away.

“Saruhiko?”

“You…uh…you talked…a lot…while your Aura was…”

“Don’t. You…don’t have to say it,” Yata interrupts. His confusion rapidly outweighs his renewed grief though. “And why does _me_ talking have _you_ apologizing?”

Saruhiko hesitates again, which makes Yata even more confused.

“I haven’t given you enough credit. I think…I think I kept expecting you to be the same Misaki you were in middle school. But that’s not you anymore. Neither of us are those people anymore.”

“Oh,” Yata says. He wonders what he said, what Saruhiko could have possibly heard that’s making him say these things. “No. We’re not. And that’s…?”

But apparently admitting even that little has blown Saruhiko’s daily quota for sharing his feelings, because he simply purses his lips and looks down at the blanket. And Misaki can tell that’s where he’s looking because his face twists up in disgust the very next second.

“That blanket…”

“Hideous, right?” Misaki says amiably. They used to be able to joke about all sorts of things. Maybe they can again. He figures he’ll start small. “But Totsuka started it and Anna finished it. And, I guess, I sort of added my own touches. Like adding a new part that’ll become the blanket’s past or history or something.” He fingers a small scorch mark, wiggling his finger through the charred material and widening it bit by bit.

In response to that, Saruhiko leans over and ties a precise knot using two pieces of the fringe material. Nodding decisively, he pats his handiwork, which is right next to a singed bit of material.

“Huh?” Yata has a feeling something symbolic and truly meaningful just happened, but he has no idea what it was.

Saruhiko uses two fingers on his right hand to push his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose and doesn’t answer.

“You’re a real asshole, you know…that?” Yata’s sentence gets interrupted by a yawn, but he tries to throw a glare Saruhiko’s way.

Saruhiko just smirks back at him.

“As if you’d have me any other way.”

Yata is gearing up to yell at him (pulling at what little is left of his reserve of strength) when he runs that sentence through his head again. Realization strikes him like a match that’s just been lit.

“You’re right,” he says, studying Saruhiko. His role in Yata’s life has changed over the years, and he’s been cast as everything from best friend to traitor to reluctant hero. But he’s always had a role, even if he was waiting offstage (or off being a star in his own life story).

“What?”

“I’d have you,” Yata says quietly, but with confidence. “You being an asshole and all, I’d have you. I _do_ have you again, right?”

Saruhiko looks momentarily stunned, as if he’s just come to his own realization.

“Of course you do, idiot. But not like before.”

Yata mulls that over for a moment.

 _Before_ had been a small world with the two of them isolated away from anyone else.

 _Before_ had been a life together in Homra where Saruhiko had slowly drifted away before burning their shared pride (although it hadn’t really been shared, had it?) off his body.

 _Before_ had been dealing with a crazed Blue who taunted him and took every opportunity to claw and shred at the things he tried to stand for.

 _Before_ had been thinking the person who was once his best friend had turned into a traitor once again.

 _Before_ had been realizing that Saruhiko Fushimi of Scepter 4 was a stand-up guy, one he had almost missed the chance to understand (or at least get to know better).

Shuddering, Yata hugs himself.

“I don’t want it like before. Let’s just be who we are, OK?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Saruhiko smirks. “Do you actually come up with plans now? Or just barge straight into danger like always?”

“Shut up,” Yata mutters. He yawns again, already struggling to keep his eyes open. He shuffles his body back down the bed until he’s lying down. “Hey, Saru?”

“Yeah?”

“You gonna stick around?” Even Yata isn’t sure whether he’s just asking Saruhiko about sticking around his bedside, or about something more.

Either way, Saruhiko answers, “Yes.”

Yata lets his eyes slip closed, curling a loose fist around the horrendously ugly orange blanket that’s a bit of Homra’s past and future, and a little bit of him and Saruhiko.

“Good,” he murmurs, and drifts off to sleep.


	3. Reisi Munakata - Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world devoid of Kings, Reisi Munakata is still a man with more power than most would know how to deal with.
> 
> He’s also still a man who can kill a houseplant by looking at it wrong.

In a world devoid of Kings, Reisi Munakata is still a man with more power than most would know how to deal with.

He’s still a man who can draw people to his cause, command loyalty and respect, and enforce order on a world that balks at it.

He’s still a man who can inspire (and frustrate) his subordinates with his intuitiveness, resourcefulness, and cleverness.

He’s also still a man who can kill a houseplant by looking at it wrong.

Sadly, his family’s gift for landscaping seems to have been inherited solely by his older brother. It’s not a fact he’d ever complain about because it’s simply that: a fact. And the fact is that Reisi Munakata has a black thumb instead of a green one when it comes to plants.

He’s reminded of that fact as he stares down at the once-beautiful purple orchid that’s drooping sadly over its square obsidian pot and onto the surface of his desk, clinging to the last vestiges of life.

“Sir? Are you alright?” Seri Awashima asks from the doorway of his office as she pushes it open with her foot. She’s in her usual Scepter 4 uniform (customized to her tastes, much like his and Saruhiko Fushimi’s – a fact that makes the police force quartermaster grumble every time he has to issue any of them new uniforms). She’d used her foot because both hands were occupied with carrying a truly impressive stack of paperwork that reached from her hips to the middle of her chest.

“Ah, Lieutenant. Come in. Yes, I’m fine. This plant, on the other hand…”

Seri gives it a brief glance as she enters before dismissing the plant with a decisive head movement.

“You’ve overwatered it.”

Reisi blanches as he reexamines the delicate flower again. Now that she’s pointed it out, he can see the truth of the matter. The soil is far too soggy, and some of the white spots that he mistook for the pot’s decorative stones are actually mold spots.

Seri must notice his sudden change in demeanor, because she sets the papers down (without knocking even one askew) to the right of the plant’s pot before perching on the edge of Reisi’s desk, her legs crossed at the ankles.

“Captain, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Reisi considers the opportunity. Someone in his position is rarely asked to air personal grievances, fears, or concerns. And, for all his composure and cultivated appearance pointing otherwise, he does have them.

In the end, he finally responds, “I am terrible with plants.”

Seri seems to be restraining herself from rolling her eyes, but she does click her tongue (a habit that most of Scepter 4 has unfortunately picked up from Fushimi).

“That’s obvious from the state of that orchid. I meant something else.”

And Reisi knows precisely what she’s hinting at. Knows, because he’s thought of sharing this burden before. But it’s one only other Kings could understand.

However, he’s no longer a King. There are no Kings anymore.

It’s with that knowledge that he finally voices the thought that’s been swirling around his head ever since his Sword of Damocles disappeared from the sky and took his certain death with it.

“I suppose I’m having a crisis of…faith isn’t the right word, but something along those lines.”

Seri looks thoughtful as she studies Reisi. Reisi does not squirm, but it’s a near thing. He hasn’t been subject to this kind of scrutiny since the last time he had Mikoto Suoh’s lazy, lion-like gaze centered on him.

At length, Seri says, “You’re not a King anymore, yet you still command considerable authority. I think you worry that that’s not enough; that we’ll abandon you as our leader because you no longer have the power of the Slate to share with us. Your fear is that we won’t champion your cause because you lack the superior abilities you once had to defend it and us. Does that sum it up?”

Reisi has always enjoyed putting puzzles together, but he’s never imagined he’s left enough pieces of himself out (or that his subordinate was so diligently collecting them) to be put together into a larger picture. Frankly, being solved in this manner is a disconcerting sensation he can’t say he enjoys.

He wonders if this is how Fushimi feels when he does much the same thing to him.

“Very astute, Lieutenant,” he says aloud when he notices Seri staring at him. He rests his elbows on the edge of the desk and steeples his fingers in front of his face, ostensibly to better study the dying orchid. “An accurate assessment of the situation as always.”

Seri inspects him once again before nodding.

“If that’s what your concerns amount to, then there’s no reason for you to worry, sir. As long as you’re here to lead us, we’ll be here to follow you. _We will advance with sword in hand, for our cause is pure_ – that’s reason enough.”

Reisi can’t keep the shock off his face, although he’s not sure what he’s shocked at. The straightforwardness of Seri’s answer? The confidence? Or the sheer idea that the people he’s gathered to his side won’t abandon him simply because he no longer wields the power of a King?

He finally gathers himself enough to respond, “Ah…Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” She taps the stack of paperwork with a manicured fingernail. “Now, if you’ll take a look at these reports…”

*******************

Reisi continues mulling over Seri’s words for the rest of the day and for a good portion of the evening. He returns to them repeatedly over the next several days as well.

She never brings it up though, and he’s fairly sure she hasn’t mentioned it to any of the other members of Scepter 4.

In truth, he thinks she’s forgotten all about it.

That is, until he comes into his office on the Wednesday morning a week after their talk. On his desk, in the spot where the orchid once stood, he finds a small leafy, green plant. He also finds a note covered in Seri’s delicate script attached to the blue ribbon tied around the plant’s patterned terracotta pot.

_Captain,_

_This is a jade plant. I’m told they’re very resilient and hard to kill._

_Care for it like you do the members of Scepter 4, and I have no doubt it will thrive as we have._

_Lieutenant Seri Awashima_

Reisi stares at the plant for a long moment before one corner of his mouth quirks up. Tucking the note into the jacket pocket closest to his heart, he goes to fetch his watering can.


	4. Neko – Periwinkle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She eagerly tugs the ribbon free before ripping the paper off the present, delighting in shredding it off in little strips. 
> 
> But when her surprise is revealed, her joy evaporates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the K Side Stories out there is "I Am A Cat," which details what happened to Neko after she became a Strain. You can read a summary of the story on her wiki profile here: http://k-project.wikia.com/wiki/Neko. 
> 
> In short, she uses her reality-bending abilities on herself and a couple to convince all of them that they are a family. It ends...poorly.
> 
> Thank you to those who have left comments and likes! It really does mean a lot to know that people are reading this and enjoying it.

“I’m home!”

Neko looks up from her homework as Kuroh enters the living room/dining area/bedroom of their apartment. (According to the school records, her room is actually on the other side of the school island. Anyone who knows her, however, knows she’s much more likely to be found in the room registered to Adolf K. Weismann.)

“Welcome back!” she returns cheerfully. She peers around him, her long white hair spilling over her shoulder. “Is Shiro not with you?”

“He said something about visiting Scepter 4 before coming back home today. He insisted I not wait for him.”

“Oh.” Neko slumps back down over the small table where Hakumai-tō has shared many a meal, burying her head in her arms.

“Don’t be down. He’ll be back before you know it. Also, I got you a present while I was out in town.”

That gets Neko to pop back up with a smile on her face.

“What is it?!”

“It’s wrapped, so I’m not going to waste time telling you before you unwrap it. Here.” And with that, he holds out a thin, rectangular package covered in pink paper and tied with curly silver ribbon. Neko reaches out and grabs it with both hands, hugging it to the front of her school uniform jacket for a moment before holding it out at arm’s length in front of her.

“Can I open it? Please say I can open it! Pleeeease?”

Kuroh laughs as he pulls off his sword and sets it down off to the side before settling cross-legged into his usual spot.

“Yes, you can open it. I must admit, I’m eager to see if you like it.”

Neko smiles at him. She likes this Kuroh best, the one who makes small gestures and delicious food. This Kuroh also lets her braid his shiny black hair if she’s particularly bored, which always makes her happy.

She eagerly tugs the ribbon free before ripping the paper off the present, delighting in shredding it off in little strips.

But when her surprise is revealed, her joy evaporates.

A small black cat stares up at her from the cover of a book that declares itself “I Am a Cat” in black letters against a periwinkle background.

“You sometimes say that when referring to yourself, so I’d wondered if you ever read it. It’s quite an inter…Neko? What’s wrong?”

Neko brings her hand up to her face, scrubbing fruitlessly at the tears cascading off her cheeks.

“It’s nothing,” she says, even as the cat stares up at her with eyes that morph into the angry ones of her “father” before becoming the devastated ones of her “mother.”

Father had promised to let her read it someday, when she was older. She’s older now, older and wiser and stronger and she’s Shiro’s cat now. She’ll always be his cat.

“Neko, I can tell it’s not nothing. Talk to me. Is it the book? Did I do something wrong in giving it to you?”

Neko sets the book down on the edge of the table. She doesn’t try to catch it when it falls to the floor, too busy hiding her eyes behind her hands. She tries again and again to wipe all the tears from her face, but they just keep coming.

“It’s fine. Really. I really did want to read it by myself. It sounded so interesting when I was…”

_Younger. Willfully blind to the truth. Manipulating an innocent couple into forgetting their dead son so I could fool us all into being a happy family._

_A monster._

She gives up on trying to wipe the tears away, instead burying her face against the long sleeves of her uniform. Feeling more than hearing the quiet thud of socked feet against the floor, she’s still surprised when Kuroh’s hand lands against her shoulder and starts a soothing rubbing motion.

“Do you want to tell me?” he asks after a moment.

Neko shakes her head, face still buried against the stiff fabric of her sleeves. She had forgotten what she’d done for so long that having it brought back by the sight of that book is agonizing.

When the Slate made her a Strain, it took her memory in the process. Wandering the devastation caused by the Kagutsu Incident, she had stumbled across a couple with kind faces who offered her a rice ball. And she had wanted so badly for someone to just take care of her that she hadn’t realized anything was wrong when the woman, her “mother,” had hugged her and called her “daughter.” She also didn’t question it when her “father” bundled her up and took her “home.”

She didn’t think about why she always avoided a certain corner of the living room (where an altar stood for the couple’s child, their _real_ child, who was killed in the Incident).

Instead, she’d practiced her newfound “magic,” avoided the old neighbor man who called her by a name that wasn’t hers (she had stolen the place of the couple’s son, but not his name), and tried desperately to make friends with the cat next door (who always walked away when she attempted to turn her “magic” on him).

But it had all unraveled in the end. She undid her “magic,” and her “father” called her a monster. Her “mother” had sobbed and wept after realizing she’d forgotten her true child.

The cat hadn’t forgotten though. The cat had known precisely what she’d done. And she’d looked at the cat and wished that her magic could make her just like him.

Before she’s realized it, in the present, she’s slipped into the cat form she’s worn for years as her own, just like she had back on that fateful day. She’s buried under the fabric of her uniform, but the darkness is its own comfort, and she’s never been afraid of the dark (afraid of so many other things, but never the dark).

She thinks about running, about making the leap from the floor to the bed to the windowsill and out along the ledge down to the other side of the building. Her plans are abruptly halted when her uiform/cave is compressed around her as she’s scooped up. There’s a moment of fussing before her head is pushed through the neck of her uniform and she’s blinking up at Kuroh, who’s holding her in his arms.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he tells her solemnly. “That was not my intent.”

Neko presses her small, pink, triangular nose against his chin in acknowledgement. It really wasn’t his fault. But dealing with _those_ memories, of any memories that came before Shiro, and Kuroh, and Anna, and Homra, and Scepter 4, is just too painful to bear.

Maybe someday, if she’s even braver than she is now, she can tell Shiro and Kuroh about that girl (Nagare had called her Miyabi Ameno) and the parents that girl stole from a dead child.

But right now… right now, she simply mews in distress. Kuroh takes her to the bed and sets her and her uniform down before sitting beside her. He strokes a single finger down the space between her ears, and Neko lets the repetitive motion comfort her.

Kuroh leans forward and snags the book from where it had landed on the floor. Sitting up, he scoots his body around until his back hits the edge of the bed. He drags the bundle of Neko’s uniform, and her as well, a bit farther up his chest.

“Would it be okay if I read it to you, for now?”

Neko mulls it over. She had always wanted to read it. She’s older now, just like Papa (the man who called her a monster) had told her she needed to be to understand it.

Mind made up, she starts purring and Kuroh takes it for the assent it is.

“OK.” He rests a hand against her back, a physical gesture they’ve both become quite fond of after spending so much time in misery as they searched for Shiro after he went missing. With his other hand, he expertly flips open the book and uses his thumb to shuffle the pages until he’s reached the beginning of the story. He pauses before starting though, and Neko interrupts her purring to look at him in askance.

“Will you…” he hesitates. “Will you…” He stops again. “I’d like to know more about you, Neko. We’re Clansmen after all, even without the Slate. So will you grant me that honor?”

Neko pulls herself out of the comfortable nest she’s made of her uniform and steps onto Kuroh’s lap. Stretching herself up, she rests her left forepaw against his chest and taps the pad of her right paw against his nose twice before dropping back down. Kuroh blinks momentarily in confusion before giving her a gentle smile.

“All of us,” he murmurs. “I want to know more about all of us.”

Neko mews in agreement. She wants that too. She wants people who want her, and Shiro and Kuroh do. She can be happy with that. And if she gets even more, if she gets their trust and they have hers in return, well, she starts purring louder than she’s ever managed before.

“I see. Yes,” Kuroh says, as if he’s heard what she just thought. “Alright then.”

He shows her the book once more, pausing for a moment when she puts her paw over the periwinkle cover and the illustration of the black cat.

“May I?” he asks for her permission again.

Neko climbs off his lap in favor of pressing herself into a compact package next to his thigh. She mews loudly, and Kuroh takes it for the “Ready!” it is.

Setting her uniform off to the side, he shuffles a bit until he has the book held in both hands. Kuroh clears his throat, and then begins reading, “I am a cat. As yet I have no name.”

Neko moves a little bit closer to Kuroh, nudging him with her head until he starts petting her again.

This isn’t perfect. Shiro isn’t here, and her heart still hurts like someone reached into her chest and started squeezing it.

But she has Kuroh and she has Shiro and she’s still a Silver in her heart. She’s warm and comfortable and cared for. She doesn’t need perfect.

And because she doesn’t, she lets Kuroh’s melodic voice wash over her and begins to purr.


	5. Anna Kushina - Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her Red, her beautiful Red that she used to protect those she loves, has faded. 
> 
> Her Red has faded, but it’s not gone.

“Ready to go?” Seri asks as she steps into Bar Homra.

Anna glances up briefly, then down in chagrin at the small cat she’s petting.

Seri rolls her eyes before saying, “Obviously not. Neko, you have five minutes to put on enough clothes that you won’t be arrested for a public indecency charge. Again.”

Neko makes an odd noise, one that starts out as a yowl of protest before it ends up in a grumbling purr. The cat dutifully hops off Anna’s lap though, scampering up the staircase across the room that led to the upstairs bedrooms.

“I’m sorry,” Anna apologizes, straightening out the skirt of her usual red dress before fiddling with the collar of her shawl. “But her fur is really soft and her purr is lovely and I couldn’t resist.”

Seri sighs as she readjusts the strap of her purse.

“She’s a menace in either form, but I can’t say I’d do differently in her situation. Sometimes there’s just something entirely too tempting about a warm patch of sunlight when you have time for a nap.”

As if realizing she’s revealed too much, Seri snaps to a parade rest. The posture is at odds with her civilian clothing of well-fitted, dark-blue jeans and a patterned light-yellow top, and she relaxes as Anna hides a snicker behind her hand. Brushing her blonde hair over her shoulder, Seri clears her throat.

“Anyways, was there anything in particular you wanted to shop for, Red Ki…ah, Anna?”

Anna takes the slip in stride. The older woman is not the first to call Anna by a title she can no longer claim, and she won’t be the last.

“Some summer things. This will get too hot soon,” she says as she gestures to the thick crimson material of her dress.

“Hmmm, that’s very true. Perhaps some new shoes, underthings, and a swimming suit are in order as well.”

Anna simply nods, giving Seri a small smile. Neko clatters down the stairs a few minutes later, dressed in a black halter top, a ruffled light-purple skirt tied off at the waist with a bow, and Mary Jane shoes that match her skirt. The look is complemented by her usual anklet, collar, and bell earring.

“Ready!” she announces as she hops off the last step and lands with both arms up like a gymnast completing a spectacular move.

Seri shakes her head before smiling and holding out her right hand to Anna.

“Shall we?”

Anna takes the hand and lets Seri pull her up before offering her other hand to Neko.

“Let’s go.”

**********

“I have to say, I was a bit surprised when you called me,” Seri says as she consults the directory of stores at the head of the shopping plaza they’ve arrived at.

“Well,” Anna says, hesitating before continuing, “Rikio’s mother did offer, but she’s quite busy the next few weeks. I then asked Misaki to take me since Izumo was tied up as well. He…he tried very hard, but…”

“Did he at least make it past the nightgowns this time?” Neko asks with interest.

“He made it to lingerie before he lost the ability to move,” Anna says a bit proudly, before seeming to realize that Seri is looking between her and Neko with utter confusion on her face. “Misaki has…a lot of issues when it comes to women. It’s not my place to tell.”

Neko has no such compunctions.

“He passes out when he talks to girls. We’ve been sparring together so he’ll get better, but Neko can flash him a bra strap and *pow!* He’s stumbling all over trying not to look!” She gleefully demonstrates a one-two punch combo before trying to slip her top off; a move which Seri quickly halts.

“That’s…” Seri starts, and then stops, obviously imagining what a sparring session between Homra’s famed Yatagarasu and Neko would look like. Anna, having witnessed it, knows that it’s a sight to behold. “And I assume you asked about nightgowns because…”

“Yup!” Neko agrees cheerfully. “Wore nightgowns for every match last week! He only fainted twice!”

“And that’s…”

“Progress,” Anna says, defending her vanguard’s honor. “I think he’s worried about how he’ll react to me when I get older. It’s…kind of sweet, really. In a very Misaki sort of way.”

“I’m going to trap him in an illusion of a harem next week!” Neko announces.

“Huh,” Seri says, then shakes her head roughly. “Well, we’d better get started if we want to find you anything before dark. We’ll start here at the corner shops, work our way around, grab a snack, and then reevaluate what we still need to purchase.”

“You and Izumo really suit one another,” Anna says as she observes the older woman.

“Oh? How so?” Seri asks as she deftly snags Neko by the back of her top before she can dash off.

“You’re both excellent at strategy.”

“Well, that’s true…”

“And you’re both madly in love with one another.”

“That’s also tr…wait. What?!”

Anna smiles. She may be losing her abilities, but she’s learned to read people (almost better than she can read their thoughts and emotions). It’s nice to know she still retains that knack.

“We’ll refrain from discussing relationships for the rest of this excursion,” Seri finally says, composure firmly back in place. “How about we start here?”

She indicates a small shop to their left and the other two nod, following her lead as she escorts them inside.

“Neko, you scope out potential dresses and other summer things. Anna, let’s get you some new underthings. Maybe a training bra. You’re getting to be about that age.”

Anna blushes slightly, pulling away from Seri to press her hands to her chest. She then eyes the tall officer and her extremely generous bust. Seri, noticing the attention, gives her a gentle smile.

“You’ve got a long ways to go before you’re all grown up, Anna. Don’t worry about it. And if you do worry about it, please feel free to come talk to me. I know precisely what it feels like to be surrounded by a bunch of males who sometimes have the emotional aptitude of carrots.”

Anna gives her a shy smile in return at that.

“Yeah!” Neko chimes in. “You look great no matter what! And you’re so cute!”

She tweaks Anna’s cheeks a bit and grins widely, obviously waiting for a response.

Anna’s blush increases, but she says “Thank you,” before Neko bounces off.

“Anna, why don’t you pick out some things you like and we can have you try them on,” Seri gently suggests, pointing off toward a display of mannequins modeling skirts, shorts, and shirts.

Nodding, Anna wanders off among the racks, occasionally stopping to rub her fingers against a shirt to test the feel of the material. Only the red clothing sticks out to her with her colorblindness, although no shade matches the warmth of Mikoto’s Red or the comfort of her own.

By the time Neko returns to her side, a variety of hangers looped off her fingers and other garments slung over both shoulders, Anna hasn’t managed to pick out a single item of clothing.

“No good?” Neko commiserates. “Well, we can always go somewhere else.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Anna replies, looking around for Seri.

“You should wear what you want,” Neko says, and it almost sounds like the older girl is admonishing her. “You’re the one who’s wearing it, in the end.”

Anna mulls that over for a moment before smiling.

“I’ll certainly keep that in mind. Are those for me?” Anna points to the dresses Neko has hanging from her fingers and the older girl instantly brightens.

“Yup yup! I’m gonna find you a dressing room. Grab the Blue lady when you’re ready!” And with that, she flounces off again.

Anna hides a smile behind her hand. For all that Neko is a bit eccentric (and honestly, Anna shouldn’t really talk after she’d regularly summoned a gigantic sword into the sky and wreathed herself in crimson flames), Anna finds she can’t help liking the older girl’s enthusiasm for absolutely everything.

It’s as Anna turns around that a flash of brilliant red catches her eyes. She pivots in place until she sees it again, eyes finally catching against a black-and-red shirt hanging haphazardly from a rack.

The garment has been twisted around so that its back is displayed rather than its front, but Anna is more interested in the design than the fact that some people can’t bother to be tidy when shopping.

She steps forward until she’s even with the shirt, stretching up to pull it straight on the rack. She draws the material between her fingers, feeling the softness, before tracing her fingers over the design.

“Anna?” she hears Seri ask as she comes up behind her, but she’s too engulfed by nostalgia and grief to answer her.

Nostalgia because the shirt’s back has been screen-printed with a design of crimson, feathered wings. And grief because she can no longer summon the flames that formed her own wings, ones that had carried her through the air as nimbly as any bird had ever been able to claim.

“I miss flying,” she says wistfully.

Seri makes a little choked noise, and then the next thing Anna knows, she’s being engulfed in a strong hug from behind.

The cheery pop song playing over the store’s speaker system doesn’t match the hollow feeling in Anna’s chest, nor does it match the warmth that’s surrounding her.

“How are you doing? Really?” Seri murmurs.

“Really?” She asks, before thinking about her response.

Mikoto is gone.

Tatara is gone.

Most of Homra is gone.

Her Red, her beautiful Red that she used to protect those she loves, has faded. Where she could once summon a powerful inferno, now she can only manage weak and wispy flames.

Her Strain powers have faded too. She can’t see the color green anymore, even with her marbles (although if she had to lose a color, green would have been the one she chose).

“I’m…”

She’s not alone anymore. What’s left of Homra are the people who chose to stay, who chose to support _her_ even if they had joined because of Mikoto.

Her Red has faded, but it’s not gone.

She can’t fly anymore, not under her own wings, but that doesn’t mean she can’t soar to greater heights with others supporting her.

Like the woman who is hugging her and asking her about her feelings.

“I’m…sad. But I know I won’t always be sad. There’s more ahead. Happiness, sadness, excitement. Just…more.”

“And you have us!” Neko says as she bounces back up to them, leaning down so she can make Seri’s hug a group one.

Anna freezes for a moment before relaxing. Being hugged like this is…strange, but not unpleasant. It’s actually pretty nice. She slowly brings her arms up, wrapping one around Neko’s shoulders and hooking the other over Seri’s right arm.

“You’re right.” She hesitates for a moment before adding, “And, you, uh, have me too. If I can be helpful.”

Seri sighs against her neck and releases her. Neko does as well, both of the older women straightening up and moving in front of her.

“Anna,” Seri says, before shaking her head. “Former Red King. We will always want you in our lives. We were divided, and then united by the power we were granted by the Slate. None of us would have survived if it weren’t for you, and, in the end, we all ended up saving one another. You have _no need_ to prove your worth. Do you understand?”

Anna feels tears pricking up at the corners of her eyes, but Seri just reminded her that she was once a king, so she blinks them away. Mulling it over for a moment, she decides that the former Blue clanswoman is correct.

“I understand.”

“Good. I also feel it’s necessary to point out that you’re still a kid. An incredibly mature one, of course, but still a kid. Lean on us adults a little, OK?”

“I…”

“We’ll still rely on you to be your amazing self, yeah?” Neko adds.

Anna looks at Neko, then Seri, and then at Neko again before letting a smile appear on her face. She nods once in response, and the two older women smile back at her.

“Yay!” Neko cheers. “We can start with you depending on our awesome fashion sense!”

She whirls around, bouncing a few steps forward before turning back and waving them on.

“Dressing room’s this way!”

“OK.” Anna takes a few steps forward to follow her, but pauses when she notices Seri isn’t next to her.

When she looks back, the blonde is pulling three black shirts from their hangers, each emblazoned with the same crimson wing pattern. As Seri looks up, she smiles at Anna again.

“You’ll grow,” she says, and Anna knows she’s talking about more than just the clothing, even without reading her mind.

“Miss Seri?”

Seri looks startled at the address, but asks, “Yes?”

Anna grins at her, an expression that feels strange on her face (in a weirdly wonderful way).

“I’m glad we could all go shopping together. It feels…it makes me happy.”

And leaving a shocked Seri behind, Anna skips her way up to where Neko is waiting. Joining arms with the older girl, they both start giggling as they run off to try on clothes colored in all different hues and shades.


	6. Seri Awashima - Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seri wonders what her and Izumo's lives would have been like if they’d met under normal circumstances. If they hadn’t traded strikes tinged with Red and Blue. If they hadn’t been the level-headed second-in-commands of Kings. If they hadn’t raced toward each other just a bit faster than they’d ever retreated.

When Seri looks up at the night sky, an endless expanse of black is presented to her, studded with tiny, white, twinkling lights.

That same scene is presented to her in replica when she examines her surroundings, although the velvety black is the tablecloths elegantly draped over the a dozen small tables and the tiny, white, twinkling lights are electric (diligently strung around a small dance floor by the men she considers valued colleagues and friends).

There’s also black and white when she lets her gaze slide to the side. It’s draping the man she just married in the form of a tuxedo, one Izumo keeps fiddling with.

“Quit fussing with it,” she snaps under her breath.

“But Seri,” he whines quietly, and they both know neither of them mean what they’re saying, not like they did an hour ago when they exchanged vows.

Reisi (dressed in a slightly different style of tuxedo than the rest of the wedding party) and Anna (looking both regal and cute in a bright-red party dress) had served as joint officiants. They had splendidly played off one another to create a short and meaningful ceremony.

Yata and Fushimi had stood with them as their witnesses, the pair of them in tuxedoes that matched Izumo’s (with the addition of a red handkerchief and a blue handkerchief tucked into their respective pockets).

“This has all gone a little too smoothly, don’t you think?” Seri murmurs, playing with the black napkin draped over her lap. It’s protecting the smooth, satiny, white fabric of the strapless mermaid wedding gown she’d chosen for the event, forgoing traditional wedding garb for something more modern. She likes how the gown feels against her skin, even though she’s already missing the comfortable lines of her Scepter 4 uniform (although with the way Izumo can’t stop staring at her, she’s sure she can manage for one night).

Izumo chuckles. He threads his right hand through her loose blond curls (she’d taken off her veil shortly into the reception), playing with her hair briefly before resting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“Now you’ve gone and done it, Heartless Woman. You’ve jinxed us. What do you think? Murderous strains or that Andy of yours making a fool of himself on the dance floor?”

Seri snorts a little indelicately, which nets her a smile from her groom.

“I’ve seen Bandou dance. There’s a disaster right there. Of course, there could always be a gang war.”

A tongue click to her right makes her look over as Fushimi plants his head in his right hand and his elbow next to his champagne glass on the table.

“Are the two of you seriously speculating on how a fight would make this party more lively?”

“It’s a little unromantic,” Yata chimes in from Izumo’s other side.

“Oh?” Izumo drawls dangerously, and the two men both straighten up, as if sensing a trap. “And you two would know nothing about how a fight can be exhilarating and make you want to get the absolute best out of someone?”

Seri has to hide a laugh behind her hand as Yata turns bright red while Fushimi just grunts and turns away as if bored.

“That’s…we…you…gah!” Yata stammers out as Izumo pats him on the back.

“As for romantic,” Seri adds when she gains control of herself, “I do believe you have to stop calling me the ‘Heartless Woman’ now.”

Izumo takes her hand and eyes her up and down before landing a gentle kiss against her knuckles.

“Nope!” he says cheerfully.

Seri smiles sweetly at her groom even as she tightens her grip on his hand to the point that everyone at the head table (and possibly people nearby) can hear his bones grinding together.

“And why not?” she asks, not letting go even when she sees tears spring to her beloved’s eyes. Not for the first time, she wishes she could still summon her Aura to use against him as she has so many times in the past (it’s not the only thing she misses it for, but it’s certainly the one she encounters situations for most frequently).

“Because,” Izumo gasps. “You’re still the ‘Heartless Woman’ because your heart belongs to me. _With_ me.”

Seri loosens her grip and leans over to steal what’s left of Izumo’s breath with a kiss as he tries to gasp at the sudden cessation of pain.

“That’s pretty romantic, Kusanagi.” Yata actually looks impressed, and Seri has to laugh again (more so when she turns to her right to see the look of absolute disgust on Fushimi’s face).

There’s a sudden loud squeal of electronic feedback, and all four of them wince before looking up.

“Sorry about that,” Anna says from where she’s holding a microphone next to the DJ. Reisi is beside her, looking down indulgently at Anna. Anna herself is looking around at the people scattered around the hotel terrace that was rented for the occasion, making sure she has their attention, before looking over at Seri and Izumo. “It’s now time for the couple to share their first dance.”

Seri turns to smile at Izumo, who gives her a shy grin in return. He shakes out his hand, wincing a bit, before he offers it to her.

“Shall we dance, my blushing bride?”

“Yes, my dashing groom.” She hears Fushimi click his tongue again behind her as she stands. Not willing to let him get away with his put-upon cynicism at _her_ wedding, Seri casually digs the point of her gorgeous, strappy, white satin high heel into Fushimi’s shoe as she shifts her chair aside. She’s immediately gratified at the muffled curse that follows.

As Izumo leads her around the table, she smiles at the crowd of people from Scepter 4, Homra, Hakumai-tō, and the police officers, Bar Homra patrons, and other friends that have gathered for the marriage of Seri Awashima and Izumo Kusanagi.

She waves to a cheering Neko (whose petal-pink dress seems to be staying on by some combination of magic and the Black Dog’s legendary tailoring skills – he had done her wedding dress alterations after Neko mentioned that he had once bartered making a dress to get them food while they looked for the Silver King).

Pressing against Izumo’s side as she looks around the crowded space, Seri whispers under her breath, “Police emergency.”

“Yakuza revenge,” Izumo rejoins.

“Anko shortage.”

“Riot at the bar since I’m not bartending.”

“Dance-off between Homra and Scepter 4.”

Izumo laughs out loud at the one, even as he slides his hand into place on her waist and positions them into a perfect ballroom frame.

Quirking an eyebrow at her, he asks, “We’re never going to be bored, are we, Seri?”

Seri wonders what their lives would have been like if they’d met under normal circumstances. If they hadn’t traded strikes tinged with Red and Blue. If they hadn’t been the level-headed second-in-commands of Kings. If they hadn’t raced toward each other just a bit faster than they’d ever retreated.

She thinks it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.

“Never,” she agrees, and leans forward to kiss him again as the music starts.


	7. Kuroh Yatogami – Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaning back on one hand, Kuroh traces a finger through the rich brown soil at the base of the tree.
> 
> “I've been thinking about how we’ve all grown. About how we’re seeds planted on this Earth that grow and thrive and wither. About how we sway differently to the wind, but all move in the same direction toward the sun and the next day. About…what?” He pauses when he notices his companions staring at him with open mouths.

Kuroh looks up from the rice cooker as Shiro (No, _Adolf_. He has to get that straight in his mind) and Neko enter the apartment. Adolf’s classes finish up early on Wednesdays and Neko’s schedule mysteriously matched his in terms of timing, so Kuroh likes to have things ready for when they get home.

“Fish?” Neko asks hopefully.

Kuroh shakes his head in amusement.

“Not tonight. We’re having chicken.”

Neko pouts for a moment, hanging off Adolf’s arm, before brightening.

“Not as good as fish, but still tasty.” She goes further into the apartment as Adolf steps over to Kuroh.

“You know, you don’t always have to cook.”

“Do you remember the last time you tried?” Kuroh instantly reminds him. “Or Neko?”

They both shudder at that memory. Whatever Neko had created in the kitchen, the gelatinous green thing had still been moving and possibly breathing when she’d dished it up.

Adolf’s attempt had at least been edible, but it had shared more in common with charcoal briquettes than food.

“Still,” the older man gently protests. “You shouldn’t have to do it all the time.”

“I like to.

_“Food feeds our bodies._

_“Love feeds our hearts and our souls._

_“People provide both._ ”

“Ichigen?” Adolf asks.

“Mine,” Kuroh says, looking back at the rice cooker so he doesn’t see Adolf’s face.

“You’re becoming quite the poet, Kuroh. I’m sure Ichigen would be proud.”

Kuroh can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face at the praise, and resolutely keeps his head down.

Adolf steps further into the apartment before stepping right back into the kitchen.

“The weather is gorgeous out! Hakumai-tō is heading out for a picnic!”

“Don’t just say things like that!” Kuroh says, although he had entertained the same thought as he’d walked home from the market.

“Neko, get some blankets! I’ll get the basket!” Kuroh shakes his head at the former King’s enthusiasm, but can’t help but get caught up in it. “Kuroh! Keep cooking delicious things!”

Kuroh shakes his head again, but doesn’t raise another word of protest. Instead, he turns back to the kitchen, debating what would be the easiest to throw together for a simple, yet elegant picnic.

Knowing that Neko and Adolf won’t want to wait now that the idea was in their heads, he settles for putting together some rice balls.

There’s some leftover tuna and mayonnaise, so he uses that for Neko’s sake. The chicken that was meant for dinner gets prepared and subjected to the same treatment, and he makes some konbu ones for variety. His smooth preparations are only interrupted each time he winces as he hears something crash to the floor in the other room.

By the time Neko and Adolf bumble back into the room (and honestly, Adolf’s actual age may mark him as elderly, but his physical body did not belong to that of a man who should _bumble_ ), Kuroh has a dozen perfectly formed rice balls packed into resealable containers and ready to be stowed away in the picnic basket hanging off Adolf’s arm.

“Incredible, Kuroh! These look fantastic!” Adolf gushes as he opens the basket and shoves the rice balls inside. “Now, quick! Outside, outside, outside! The day’s a wastin’!”

Kuroh shakes his head, but allows himself be ushered out the door with Neko at his side.

Ten minutes later finds them ensconced under a cherry tree on the far side of the high school island. Neko is already tearing into the tuna rice balls, Adolf is alternating between laughing at her and eating his own food, and Kuroh is observing them both, trying to compose another haiku in his head.

“Kuroh? Aren’t you going to eat?” Neko asks. “I’ll take your share if you don’t want it!”

“Neko!” Adolf scolds, then turns to Kuroh with concern on his face. “Are you alright?”

Kuroh lets a smile quirk his lips.

“Just thinking.”

“Oh? About what?”

Leaning back on one hand, Kuroh traces a finger through the rich brown soil at the base of the tree.

“About how we’ve all grown. About how we’re seeds planted on this Earth that grow and thrive and wither. About how we sway differently to the wind, but all move in the same direction toward the sun and the next day. About…what?” He pauses when he notices both Adolf and Neko staring at him with open mouths.

“That was…” Adolf starts, but them stumbles to a stop.

“You sound like the guy on your recorder. That Ichigen guy,” Neko says, sounding pleased at having figured that out. “Very wisdom-y. And sort of old, but in a good way.”

“Mature,” Adolf supplies. His lips move soundlessly a few times before he smiles. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it put quite like that. Your insight is quite sharp.”

Kuroh can’t help the blush that stains his cheeks at the comments from the pair in front of him.

“That’s…”

“Although I might add that I think our seeds have blossomed into all kinds of plants, from delicate flowers to the beginnings of strong trees that will continue to grow. We three, in particular, have grown in ways I never could have imagined.”

“Hey, Shiro! Am I a flower?” Neko asks.

Adolf reaches over and pats her head before replying, “The prettiest rose I’ve ever seen, with the thorns to protect yourself and those around you.”

“And me?” Kuroh asks before he can rein the question in. “What am I?”

Adolf ponders it for a moment, crossing one arm over his chest, and resting his other arm on top of it so he can use his right hand to support his chin.

“Bamboo,” he finally pronounces. “Because you’re strong, yet flexible. Also, you make things even more delicious.”

He holds up one of the rice balls as proof before taking a large bite of it.

“What’s Shiro?” Neko asks Kuroh, crawling over to his side to examine the soil he’s disturbed. “Something strong, right?”

Kuroh traces his fingers through the dirt again, sorting through plants in his mind that could possibly represent the man in front of him.

And then it comes to him.

“Edelweiss.”

“Edelweiss?” Neko asks. “Is that like a big tree?”

Kuroh ignores the stunned look on Adolf’s face and turns to Neko instead, scooping up a handful of soil and letting it rain from his fingers and he explains, “It’s a flower. The name comes from the German language, where it translates to ‘Noble White.’ Fitting, right?”

Neko gives a vigorous nod as Kuroh brushes off his hands and then puts them up by his head, fanning out his fingers and still not daring to look at Adolf.

“The flowers even have these white, spiky petals. I’ll have to find you a picture. It looks just like him!”

Neko bounces up on her knees before whirling around to face Adolf.

“Have you seen these edel….Shiro?”

And Kuroh forces himself to look, only to blanch when he realizes that tears are silently streaming down the older man’s face.

“Shiro?” he asks, completely forgetting the man’s real name.

“Is that how you see me? Noble? Not cowardly?”

And Kuroh, even though it’s not usually his nature, has Shiro wrapped in a hug even before Neko can get to him (though she’s not far behind as she throws her arms around both of them).

“No man who has done has much as you could be considered a coward, Shiro. And any who would call you that would meet the point of my Kotowari.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Neko chimes in. “We make a lovely garden when we’re together!”

Shiro sniffles before wiping his tears on Kuroh’s jacket.

“Hey!”

“I’m happy to have gotten the chance to grow with you and see you grow.”

Kuroh thinks of the poem he recited for Yukari, about being one of Ichigen’s seeds. And then he thinks that what the other two said was absolutely true. He’s finally getting his chance to grow out in the sunshine, free from orders to kill a King if he should turn out wicked or a desire to surpass the man who used to be like a brother to him. He’s free to pursue his cooking and his poetry and whatever strikes his fancy in this world without the Dresden Slate.

“ _Beautiful garden_

_“Growing with love, friends, and rice_

_“I’ve found my new home.”_

And he knows he’s right when the hug suddenly shifts to him so suddenly that he ends up pinned to the picnic blanket, a rice ball squashed under his head, and Neko laughing in his left ear while Shiro laughs and cries in his right.

_One day_ , he thinks, _I’m going to tell Master Ichigen about all the new things I learned and people I met. And I’m going to tell him that none of it would have been possible if I hadn’t met these two._

Out loud though, he shouts, “Get off, get off! I’ve got rice in my hair because of you!”


	8. Izumo Kusanagi - Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izumo Kusanagi has never bore the title of King, but he reigns over a kingdom all the same.

Izumo Kusanagi has never bore the title of King, but he reigns over a kingdom all the same.

Where Mikoto and Anna and the others had drawn their power as Kings from the Dresden Slate, Izumo drew and continues to draw his from tending to his subjects – the loyal patrons of Bar Homra and the scrappy misfits of Homra.

Izumo sometimes likes to muse on his domain in the lazy afternoons when no members of Homra are filling the bar with chatter and no customers are demanding that he make them bizarre drinks with anko or mayonnaise.

Granted, he thinks most kings wouldn’t have a bar towel slung over one shoulder. Or their head propped on their hands with their elbows leaning on a well-polished bar. Or have an unlit cigarette in their mouth. But he’s perfectly willing to ignore those small details.

The doors, with the leaded scrollwork decorating the smoky glass, serve as the entrance to both his castle and his kingdom.

And it’s through this glass that a gentle yellow light streams into Bar Homra, illuminating a particularly lively swirl of dust motes as they dance through the bar and dart through the buttery rays of sunlight.

That same sunshine illuminates the area behind the bar. The area serves as his throne room, one decorated with bottles upon bottles of expensive liquors in exquisitely colored glass bottles.

The bar itself, the one he imported from England, is where he holds court, consulting with Kings and commoners alike. While Homra’s reputation is unlikely to ever completely brush off the ashes Mikoto left them with (and they’re safer for it), Anna is taking them in a (mostly) respectable direction. He’s spent many an evening handing her a glass of warm milk, Yata a cocktail, and pouring himself a measure of whiskey before discussing Homra’s future with the pair.

The ridiculously comfortable couch every member of Homra has taken a nap on (or several, himself included) and the dark hardwood tables are his lands, which he tends to with furniture polish and dusters and the occasional damp cloth (when there’s a patch of drool left behind on the cushions of said couch after one of those naps).

The jukebox in the corner helps make his kingdom lively, even though its fanfares can’t replace the music a gentle, always smiling bard once sent floating through his castle.

The Mystery Box (or Seri’s Private Reserve when she’s present) is stocked with ingredients that help contribute to a popular drinking challenge for those who lose bets or want to prove their mettle as strong men and women (because you have to be strong to down that much anko in one go, or the mayonnaise, or the Russian salad dressing, or any of the other things that have drifted into the miniature refrigerator over its existence).

The wall, full of pictures that capture memories that are sometimes painful and sometimes nostalgic to recall, serves as his kingdom’s archives. They chronicle each chapter of Homra, from the very beginning when it was just three boys who became unlikely friends, all the way to a crew of hardened thugs (with marshmallow insides) who follow a preteen girl’s wishes.

New photos have made their way onto the wall now, including a group shot of Scepter 4, whose members have joined the ranks of regular patrons, and a candid one of the Hakumai-tō trio (taken in Bar Homra itself while the former Silver King had been picking out a song on the jukebox).

As the ruler of his kingdom, Izumo enjoys a number of things.

He has Anna and Homra (those wonderful idiots who either came back or - in the case of one bull-headed, supremely devoted individual - never left).

He has a wife he loves who loves him back with equal fervor (and Seri had blushed the prettiest shade of red the first time he’d told her he loved her – after she’d whacked him upside the head first when she thought he was trying to run a con on her).

He has memories of good friends who are gone now, but never far from his thoughts (there’s a U-shaped scorch mark on the bar from when Mikoto was still struggling with his control; over next to a sign displaying drink specials is the result of Totsuka’s one-week attempt to pick up woodcarving. The tiny wooden butterfly he’d made had briefly flown across the bar on the back of a butterfly made from Totsuka’s Aura, much to Anna’s delight as she’d clapped her hands at the sight).

He has a drinking buddy in Reisi Munakata of all people (and my, can the former King knock them back!).

He has regrets, ranging from as simple as wishing he hadn’t imported that bottle of top-shelf tequila that no one seems to want, to as difficult as wishing he had gone with Totsuka the night he went to go film the city lights for Anna’s birthday from a lonely rooftop.

He has a vision for his future again.

Before Izumo’s world had been consumed by Kings and Clans and Slates, he’d had two dreams: to visit England and to own his own bar. Those accomplished, he’d turned to making the dream of Homra into a reality, supporting his King as he gathered those who wanted, who _needed_ power to his side.

But after Mikoto died, after Totsuka died, after Anna was no longer his King because there was no such thing as the power of Kings and Clans and Slates, Izumo had to come up with a new dream.

Protecting his bar (his kingdom) and the people in it became that dream.

Now, he’s got a bar towel for a scepter and a faint wreath of cigarette smoke for a crown. He has a queen in all but actual title (as he’s definitely called her that more than once). He has vassals and patrons, and he consorts with knights and other monarchs.

Wrapped up in the quiet moments surveying his kingdom and the loud ones protecting it, he feels like he truly knows what it means to be a King.


	9. Saruhiko Fushimi - White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smirk crossing his lips as he releases his sword, lets a knife fall from its holster into his grip, and calls on…nothing. No Auras, as he’d been able to call on all of them. Not even an Aura, singular. 
> 
> Nothing. 
> 
> He’s forgotten. For a just a split second, but he’s forgotten they weren’t there to call anymore.

When Saruhiko wakes up, he finds himself gazing fuzzily at an unfamiliar white ceiling.

The fuzzy part isn’t particularly strange, as he isn’t wearing his glasses, but the unfamiliar part is.

He shuts his eyes again, using the rest of his senses to identify his location.

He feels stiff sheets beneath his fingers.

He hears a steady, rhythmic beeping emanating from somewhere close to his left side.

His mouth tastes like…ugh, better to ignore that one for now.

He smells bleach and antiseptic and the faintest trace of something metallic.

Saruhiko opens his eyes again as the answer comes to him: hospital.

Racking his brain for how he got here, he comes up with nothing more than a vicious ache in his head that seems to awaken every sore spot on his body (of which there are several).

A soft exhalation over to his right prompts him to turn his head. He observes two blurry outlines, but the bright chestnut hair of the first and the dirty blonde of the second leave no doubts as to the outlines’ identities.

Fumbling at the table he can see out of the corner of his eye, Saruhiko’s hand strikes an object made of glass and metal that he clumsily snatches up and jams on his face. With his glasses once again sharpening his vision, Saruhiko blinks a few times before studying the figures at his bedside.

Lieutenant Awashima (legally Kusanagi, but no one at Scepter 4 has managed to use her new name properly without tripping over her old one first) is clad in civilian wear. Her light blue blouse is tucked into the edges of what he assumes is the plain black A-line skirt she always tends to pair it with. Her loose hair is draped over the back of the plastic hospital visitor chair she’s sitting on, her head perched precariously on top of the thin chair back. There’s a cushion beneath her head though, and it takes Saruhiko a long moment to suss out why the purple item seems so familiar. When he recognizes it as Misaki’s folded-up down coat, he smiles. (Misaki has a chivalrous streak a mile wide, even if he usually can’t talk to a girl for long enough to demonstrate it.)

Speaking of Misaki…Saruhiko actually has to blink a number of times before he convinces himself that what he’s seeing is real. He has to, because Misaki Yata, who turns an unflattering shade of red at the mere sight of a girl, is leaned up against the Lieutenant’s body with his head resting on her shoulder. He’s wearing the red T-shirt and green shorts he often wears, sans his hat, but the familiarity isn’t enough to distract Saruhiko from the way Misaki’s arm is brushing against the Lieutenant’s ample bust.

Saruhiko is momentarily paralyzed at the thought he’s been in the hospital long enough for Misaki to have changed such a key part of his personality so completely. He tries to think of other explanations and his brain once again reminds him of what a poor idea thinking hard is at the moment.

Attempting to roll over, Saruhiko has to abruptly abandon the action in favor of letting out a soft whimper at the unexpected, excruciating pain in his right thigh.

“Ah,” comes a familiar whisper to his right. “Easy. Just lie still.”

Saruhiko is too busy breathing through his gritted teeth to come up with a retort to that, so he tries to resort to his old standby, clicking his tongue. He’s dismayed to find that even that betrays him (just like his body) since his mouth is so dry he can’t make a sound.

“There’s ice chips for when you can sit up,” the voice says, the words coming to him clearly despite the blood rushing past his ears.

When he finally calms down enough to focus again, Misaki wordlessly passes him a tissue so he can hastily wipe away the tears that still linger on his face.

He expects something after that: an admonition, a taunt, general yelling, _something_. But Misaki remains quiet and calm, gazing steadily at Saruhiko like…Saruhiko can’t identify the look in his eyes and he really begins to wonder how long he’s been here.

“How…long?” he ekes out, the words burning his throat with a fire more potent than he ever thought of wielding with his Red Aura.

Misaki doesn’t say a word as he picks up the cup of ice chips he’d promised earlier. He takes the plastic spoon in the cup and uses it to load up two cubes, which he carefully tips into Saruhiko’s mouth. Saruhiko dutifully sucks on them (they feel wonderful, even if they make the itch in his throat worse simply by reminding his body of how dreadful his condition really is).

Misaki, for his part, remains silent. His only motions after setting down the ice chip cup are to glance briefly at the Lieutenant (who slumbers on) before he settles his gaze on the far wall of the hospital room.

“Misa…” He has to pause to cough before he can try again. “Misaki.”

“Saruhiko,” Misaki says, and his inflectionless tone sends Saruhiko’s heartrate skyrocketing for reasons he can’t understand. The heartrate monitor cheerfully announces his distress though, and Misaki sighs. “Calm down.”

Saruhiko’s right hand drifts up to his chest in an attempt to scratch at the scar tissue covering his old Homra tattoo (a habit he has yet to break), but he finds the old wound covered by a neat square bandage he’s too tired to rip off. He leaves his hand where it is though, resting on top of the hospital gown that covers far too little for his tastes now that he’s paying attention.

“Two-and-a-half days,” Misaki finally says when Saruhiko’s heartrate has started approaching normal.

It’s less time than he thought, but it’s still disconcerting to have been unconscious for that long.

“What hap…?” He doesn’t bother to finish the question, knowing that even Misaki will be able to pick up the rest of it.

Instead of answering, Misaki just studies him, his amber eyes stripping Saruhiko. He once would have given anything to have Misaki’s attention focused on him like this, but now he just finds it uncomfortable.

The tension grows between the two of them, undisturbed by the heart monitor, the Lieutenant’s breathing, or the faint sounds of the hospital beyond their little bubble.

“You…” Misaki says softly, although his voice is thick with emotion. “You aren’t under the protection of a sanctum anymore. Any sanctum. You had two, hell, _three_ , for so long, but you don’t anymore. And you…”

And Saruhiko, with a sharp stab of pain through his temple, remembers the fight that landed him here.

_A mission involving a gang of murderous Strains._

_A dark alley, four of them cornering him against the end of it._

_A smirk crossing his lips as he releases his sword, lets a knife fall from its holster into his grip, and calls on…nothing. No Auras, as he’d been able to call on all of them. Not even an Aura, singular._

_Nothing._

_He’s forgotten. For a just a split second, but he’s forgotten they weren’t there to call anymore._

_The gang takes advantage of his momentary lapse._

_A swift movement off to his left, a blinding flash of light, and one of them is right in front of him. He blocks their wild downward strike with his sword, but the deflected blow only means that, instead of his heart, the wielded ice pick rams deep into his right thigh._

He shakes his head rapidly as if that will help him escape from the pain that’s reignited throughout his body.

“I…I remember,” he grits out.

“That’s good,” Misaki says, but he sounds like he thinks it’s anything but. He moves his hands up to rest on the top of the bedcovers, absentmindedly smoothing them out.

Saruhiko shuts his eyes and sucks in several long, deep breaths, letting each one out slowly. When the scream that’s been caught in his throat slips down to settle like a weight in his stomach, he reopens his eyes to find Misaki staring at him. He still can’t read his expression.

“What?”

And just like that, Misaki looks devastated before he turns his gaze to the ground.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, hands clenching into fists so hard that Saruhiko is sure he’s moments away from drawing blood. “You’re not protected by a King or Kings or your own powers anymore, and you’re too much of an idiot to rely on other people to help protect you.”

“I don’t need…”

“Clearly you fucking do!” Misaki snaps, and when he looks up at Saruhiko, every emotion he’s obviously been suppressing springs back into his eyes like a torrent of fire. “You were unconscious for two-and-a-half fucking days! If the Blue King and the others hadn’t gotten to you in time, you would have bled to death, you idiot monkey! I would have lost you! We all would have lost you! Do you have any idea what that would have done to me…to _all_ of us? So don’t you dare say you don’t need help!”

Misaki is panting by the time he’s finished, hands flexing as he glares at Saruhiko. At Misaki’s side, the Lieutenant is reaching out to press a hand to his shoulder, having been jolted awake somewhere in the middle of his tirade.

“Yata,” she says.

Misaki huffs, but slumps back against the chair just as a young female nurse bursts into the room.

“What’s with all the yelling? If you’re disturbing my patient, you’ll have to leave!”

“There’s no problem,” the Lieutenant cuts in efficiently. “Just a simple misunderstanding. We’ll be careful to be quieter for the rest of visiting hours. Also, as you can see, your patient is awake, so it would be good to get him checked over.”

Three things happen after that: the black-haired nurse starts assessing him with a keen eye, Saruhiko shoots the Lieutenant a look that he knows she’ll be able to interpret as grateful (even if no one else could), and Misaki turns bright red after the nurse’s (the very beautiful, _female_ nurse’s) scolding.

Saruhiko sighs as a tiny part of his larger world clicks back into place (because a Misaki who has trouble with women is definitely _his_ Misaki). But Misaki’s words keep repeating themselves in his head.

_I would have lost you! We all would have lost you! Do you have any idea what that would have done to me…to_ all _of us?_

_I would have lost you! Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?_

_I would have lost you!_

Saruhiko looks down at the sheets, and finds that there are small crimson droplets scattered there, and Misaki’s fingertips are stained red where they’re wrapped around his arms as he curls into the seat in shame and embarrassment and residual anger. He really _had_ dug his nails into his palms so hard he bled.

Twitching the sheet to hide the stains from the nurse, he wonders how Misaki can possibly sustain that much passion. It’s frankly exhausting to watch, and Saruhiko knows from the years he spent at odds with Misaki that it’s hard to maintain that level of energy (hatred, love, whatever) for long.

Misaki’s a loudmouthed, gigantic idiot playing family with a group of thugs, but he still cares about Saruhiko enough to get violently upset at him and on his behalf. And really, idiot isn’t even the right word for Misaki, even if it’s still his favorite insult. Yes, Misaki may be slow to get some things, and he can’t work tech to save his life, but he’s loyal, protective, and oddly intuitive when it comes to people. Saruhiko has experienced that firsthand.

His musings are broken when, after prodding at Saruhiko and his monitors for a moment, the nurse declares he seems fine and that she’ll fetch the doctor.

Once she leaves the room, Saruhiko turns his attention to the Lieutenant.

“Lieutenant, would you mind leaving us alone for a minute?”

She studies him briefly before nodding, not bothering to hide the tiny, satisfied grin on her face.

“Fine, but just for a moment. Saruhiko, the Captain will be disappointed he missed you. Be advised that’s he been researching bedside techniques and that the others plan to keep him distracted for as long as they can so that he can’t use you as an experiment.”

Saruhiko shudders. The thought of the Captain trying to nurse him back to health is horrifying on far too many levels. He almost pities his subordinates.

Almost.

“Yata, I will reiterate the nurse’s warnings. Keep it down and keep it civil. We’re in a hospital.

“And both of you,” she pauses, waiting until they’re both squirming, before saying, “try not to upset one another too much. There’s nothing here that can’t be fixed with some time and understanding.”

Saruhiko clicks his tongue and Misaki sinks further into his seat, but the Lieutenant waits until they both nod their agreement before standing and leaving the room.

Leaning back into his pillows, Saruhiko rolls his head so he can more easily look at Misaki. For his part, Misaki is still glaring at the floor, but his anger looks to be rapidly draining away.

Saruhiko shuts his eyes for a moment, exhaustion sweeping over him and starting to settle in.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to once again find Misaki looking at him impassively.

“You always call me an idiot, but you’re not one, Saruhiko. You can’t forget something _that_ _important_. Never again. Promise me.”

Saruhiko swallows hard, resisting to urge to turn away from Misaki and the type of attention he’s getting from the other man (this focused, deliberate, caring Misaki who shows up occasionally to remind Saruhiko that Misaki left his home so he could make one with Saru, that Misaki was always taking care of him, that Misaki was sometimes so sharp with his insights without even trying that he reminded Saruhiko of the daggers he keeps hidden across his body and in his boots).

“I’ll…I’ll try not to…be as idiotic as you.”

To Saruhiko’s surprise, that makes a smile break out on Misaki’s face.

“You are such an asshole. Heal up soon so we can spar again, yeah?”

Saruhiko let his eyes slide shut as he smirks.

“Like that’s ever a…challenge.”

“Go to sleep, you idiot monkey.”

“Thought you just told me I wasn’t an idiot?”

“Semantics.”

“Big word for you.”

“I swear, Saruhiko, if you don’t shut up and go to sleep, I’m going to knock you unconscious again.”

“Isn’t the doctor coming?”

“You need to rest more. I’m sure Ms. Awas…Mrs. Kusa… _Seri_ will agree with me. Now will you _shut up_?”

Saruhiko almost doesn’t reply, but the painkillers and an emotion he’s not willing to examine further loosen his tongue.

“Only if you’re going to be here when I wake up.” Saruhiko cringes internally even as he drags his eyes open to observe a blush staining Misaki’s cheeks pink.

“If they don’t kick me out, yeah. I’ll be here. Get some rest, OK?”

Saruhiko sighs before settling back into the pillows.

“Yeah, alright.”

“Night, Saru.”

“Night, Misaki.”

“Idiot.”

“Moron.”

“Yeah,” Saruhiko sighs, a warm feeling spreading through his body that has nothing to do with the blanket Misaki is pulling up over him. “You too.”


	10. Yashiro Isana/Adolf K. Weismann – Rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you think, Sister, Lieutenant? I know this world isn’t the one we imagined. After all, you’re not in it. But I think it’s moving in the direction we all wanted. There’s peace now.”

Adolf has learned a lot of things in his unnaturally long life.

He’s learned that grief can hollow a person out so much they’ll want to do nothing but float away.

He’s learned that agony is losing people again and again when there’s nothing he can do to save them.

And he’s learned (again) that some people are worth every bit of grief and agony.

Ruling over the skies of Japan as the Silver King hadn’t brought him the salvation he’d hoped. And in his absence from the world, no King had been able to make his old dream of using the Slate to bring happiness to the world come to fruition, not even the Lieutenant.

But he has new dreams now. He has his teaching job, and friends among the clans that used to be. He has a renewed sense of the value of life.

Most importantly, he has Neko and Kuroh.

From his position on the roof of one of the high school’s many buildings (a sanctuary from his brief stint as a student that he hasn’t seen any reason to abandon now that he’s a teacher), he examines the photograph of himself, the Lieutenant, and Claudia.

A rainstorm pounds down around him, but he and the treasured photograph are safe under the shelter of the roof overhang. He’s also dry because he’s sprawled back across the small metal bench he bribed Kuroh into helping him bring up here (the array of fine cooking salts had cost an ungodly amount, but he’d benefitted in the end by having both a place to sit and muse, and perfectly seasoned meals).

“What do you think, Sister, Lieutenant? I know this world isn’t the one we imagined. After all, you’re not in it. But I think it’s moving in the direction we all wanted. There’s peace now.”

He takes his eyes off the photo and looks out through the gray mist at what he knows are the grounds of Ashinaka High School. He’s experienced so much here, from death to life and everything in between. The dreary gray reminds him of his time on the _Himmelreich_. He’d drifted through storm clouds and blue skies and somehow never really _seen_ any of it.

Now though, he’s seen the brilliance of Kuroh’s Silver and the shine of Neko’s.

He’s seen the polished sheen of Reisi Munakata’s Blue and the warm glow of Anna Kushina’s Red (and the blazing rawness of Mikoto Suoh’s Red).

He’s also seen the dullness of Tenkei Iwafune’s Gray and explosive nature of Nagare Hisui’s Green.

He remembers the first time he saw the Lieutenant’s shining Gold and thought, ‘Yes. That’s the right color for him.’

“I’m a teacher now,” he tells the picture, rather than musing on colors that have disappeared from his world. “They call me Mr. German. It’s pretty ridiculous, but then again, we were always pretty ridiculous as kids.”

His sister’s smile stares back at him. He spares a moment to wish, ever so fiercely, that he could hear her laugh again or even have her scold him and punch him in the arm.

“I have friends, Lieutenant. You were the first friend I ever really made, besides Claudia. And she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.”

He imagines he can see her nodding emphatically, if only to hide the smile that’s snuck onto her face. He traces the Lieutenant’s outline in the photo; following the sharp lines of his uniform with his fingertip.

“But you let me talk, even when you didn’t understand. You listened. You listened to my foolish dreams and tried to use them to make a world for us all.”

Adolf smiles.

“You didn’t do too poorly in the end. The Slate tipped the odds, both good and bad. But you gave this world a different chance, a whole new set of possibilities. And you kept being my friend, even when I abandoned you down here on the ground.”

He thinks of walking away toward his new airship as the Lieutenant yelled, no, _pleaded_ with him not to run away.

“I’ve lost track, but I’ve definitely been granted too many chances and messed them up. I’m going to do things right this time. Or, at least as right as I can. I’m going to _live_. I want to say it’s for both of you, but I think this time it’s for me. I’ll live and help everyone I can because I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.

“The Slate brought joy and so much suffering. And it’s gone. Joy and suffering are still here. So I’ll have to start smaller than when I was a King. But if I can make a difference, even a small one, right here, right now, I think you’ll be able to look at me with pride if we meet again. Right?”

He wipes away a tear before it can land on the precious photo. Deciding he’s dwelled on the past for too long, he tucks the photo away into an inner pocket of his jacket, where it will be protected. That accomplished, he stands up and brushes off his white suit and jacket.

Outside his shelter, the rain has slowed down into nothing more than a light mist.

He looks out over the school grounds again, and can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he notices a rainbow forming over the sea. Rushing for the door, he tears it open and starts down the steps, intent on grabbing Neko and Kuroh so they can observe this beautiful sight with him before it fades away.

The Immortal King had observed life and the world from his lofty perch.

Yashiro Isana had been too scared, too confused, and too tangled up in false memories and murderous plots to live like he wanted to for more than a few days.

But Adolf “Addi” Weismann is neither of those people; not anymore. He’s not observing life like it’s an experiment. He’s not waiting for his death to come at the hands of a vengeful Clan member.

No, Addi is finally doing what his sister hoped he would, what his first friend had encouraged, and what his current friends have showed him how to do.

He’s living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who stuck through with this until the end. A special thanks to all those who commented throughout the story, and for those of you who might read it now that it's complete and leave a comment. Your support was what kept me posting. Cheers to you!


End file.
